


48 Hours

by Guy_Fleegman



Category: Andromeda (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Friendship, Gen, Harper being Harper, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Language, Original Character(s), Protective Rommie, Season 1, Violence, WIP, Whump, hurt harper
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:55:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21755647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guy_Fleegman/pseuds/Guy_Fleegman
Summary: No one else was home. It was just Rommie and Harper for forty-eight hours. Rommie had stayed silent about the fact that the repairs he'd claimed Andromeda desperately needed should take half the time allotted, because she was curious. Why had Harper inflated the number of repairs needed?
Comments: 16
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

No one else was home. The _Andromeda_ had needed repairs, ones Harper claimed were in dire need of fixing; he was surprised they were still flying. Power fluctuations had been running rampant: weakened lights, doors that wouldn’t open in time. Tyr was fuming when he ran into a door upon trying to exit the bridge. 

And given the choice of staying on the ship while Harper puttered about for two days, or of taking the _Maru_ with Dylan and Beka to attend to some Commonwealth business, the rest of the crew had opted for the latter. Harper had waved them goodbye with a smile.

It was just Rommie and Harper for forty-eight hours. Rommie had stayed silent about the fact that the repairs should take half the time allotted, because she was curious. Why had Harper inflated the number of repairs needed? She was sure it wasn’t on accident.

The thrum of the engines occupied the rooms in the crew’s absence; filling every nook and cranny like a liquid. Everything had a deep purple glow due to the lower setting of power, the bottoms of the walls radiating purple, spilling it across the floor and splattering it up the walls.

After watching a dot—the _Maru_ —skip across the sensors until it was almost out of range, Rommie stalked toward the Slipstream Core. The thunk of her shoes against the ground sounded too loud, bouncing everywhere, though she took no notice.

She slowed when Harper turned a corner in front of her. He had his goggles pushed up to his forehead, sleeves rolled up, and a sharp look in his eye.

“Rommie,” he said, rushing toward her, arms out. “You are not gonna _believe_ what I’ve got in store.”

She crossed her arms, appraising him with a raised chin. “Why did you lie to Dylan about the extent of my repairs?”

He shrugged, “I didn’t lie, I just…exaggerated. There really are repairs.”

“Mhm.”

“But trust me, my _exaggeration_ is totally worth it.” He spun back around and led Rommie to a room just off the Slipstream Core—one of his machine shops that were scattered about the ship.

“I was just gonna use my main shop, but I figured if it went wrong, I wouldn’t want it going wrong around my A-list projects. _Now_ though, this is like an A plus project; I don’t want the A lists near it.”

The door slid open with a soft hiss, and Harper skipped in, tools on his belt jangling. Rommie noted he had his gun on him.

Wires and cables ran across the floor, ceiling, over and amongst things, tangled and stuffed between strategically spaced heavy objects. Metal scraps clanged when Rommie’s foot bumped into them in the near darkness. She wondered how Harper weaved through them without making a sound.

He came to stop in front of a structure a few inches taller than him, though that wasn’t an impressive feat in and of itself. It was an upright rectangle with colored wires zipped to the boarders; a doorway. The doorway stood a few feet from the wall, its frame a single body, not attached to anything. Rommie revised her assessment: a doorway that didn’t go anywhere.

Harper motioned excitedly with his hands which were now gloved, then pulled on a jacket that had been draped over a metal cart. “Beautiful, isn’t she?”

Rommie stepped closer and popped her head from one side of the threshold to the other, her eyes looking for something, anything. “What is…she?”

“If she _works_ , the greatest thing ever invented. If not,” he paused. “Well, then she’s still got her looks.”

Rommie looked him up and down, but returned her attention to the mystery standing in front of her. Harper busied himself with buttons and switches on the cart next to the doorway.

Picking a wire and tracing it as far as she could, Rommie saw the black line snake itself into a panel which was held ajar by thick bundles of wires, on the far wall. If her vision wasn’t perfect, she would have had trouble making out much of what was in the room with her, but as it was, she could see everything. All of Harper’s ‘projects-in-progress’ had retreated to the far wall, giving the doorway space to breathe. It was like this invention was a magnet that had repelled anything not pertaining to itself; nothing deemed unworthy got within ten paces. She reached out to touch it.

“I wouldn’t do that!” Harper said, jumping over a box and putting himself between his two greatest creations. “I’m not sure what would happen exactly—with this much power surging through her veins, could fry you both. Bam! Splat! No more Rommie, comprende?”

“I’ll stay back then.”

“Probably for the best,” he said, offering a smile. “At least until I get her up and fully functional.” He turned to his panel box of switches and buttons. “Alright, I’m gonna start messing with your power for a second here, don’t freak.”

She was almost offended he thought she was even capable of ‘freaking’. She’d had him in her matrix and settings before.

Clacking of switches flipping up and down, clicking of buttons being depressed then popping back into place. The thrum of the engine quieted. Rommie blinked.

“You’re turning everything off,” she said, brow furrowed.

“Not everything. Just all non-essentials.” He continued, and with each click or clack, she felt another system fall silent. Hallways winked dark, screens dimmed, sounds slowed and stopped, until it was just life support and artificial gravity remaining.

“What’re you—”

“Just watch, Rommie.” He turned on an independent light source, what he’d call a flashlight. “Just watch.”

A dial cranked and the room began to hum. Harper could feel the vibration in his chest. He cranked more, the hum mutating into a buzz. A row of lights had been installed on the head of the door, they pulsated, each time coming back stronger. Rommie could see Harper’s breath coming out in white puffs; he’d lowered internal heating. She guessed for either the power it would free up or so that his invention wouldn’t overheat. Maybe both.

“You could get hypothermia if you stay in this temperature for,” she quirked her head, doing the math. “Another seven minutes.”

He barked a laugh, turning the dial 180 degrees. “Guess we’ll just have to speed this up then, huh?”

The buzz filled his ears, the lights blazing bright, burning his eyes. Something flashed in the doorway, something foreign, something unlike a spaceship. Rommie watched, unable to compute what had just flashed in the doorway for a moment. It was a room.

“What was that?” She asked, having to lean toward Harper to be heard over the incessant buzz.

“Not good enough,” he said, dropping to his knees and sliding the cart closer to him. He futzed about, then the flash came back. It stayed longer this time.

It _was_ a room. Metal walls, stands in the middle of the room with shining objects on them, large polished door with no handle or indentations on the opposing wall.

“Harper…”

She glanced at him. He was entranced, cheeks and nose red, shoulders shivering, but a look of slack jawed awe on his face. He stumbled toward the door on shaking legs.

“Harper, what is that place?”

“It’s a vault on Genghis III.” He ran a gloved hand through his hair. “I never expected—I mean, I _hoped_ , but—wow, I can’t believe…”

He reached out toward the wobbling mirage, but his hand didn’t go through the image, it went into it. He snapped the limb back, pressing it close to his chest. “Holy crap, holy crap.” He jerked forward, putting his whole arm in. Rommie just stared.

He turned toward her, “I’m gonna…I gotta… I’ll be right back.” With that, he plunged himself all the way in, eyes screwed shut, breath caught in his lungs; it was like he was going under water. She repositioned herself so she could watch him explore the small room.

Turning upward, his gaze swept over the top and bottom of the room, tracing the lines of structure. She watched as he sauntered, without his usual grace, to the other door. He slid a hand over it, and pressed; it didn’t budge.

The image of him in the vault disappeared for a second, and Rommie caught sight of the wall on the other side of the doorway. He was back in a heartbeat, and hadn’t seemed to notice the glitch.

“Harper, you need to come back.”

His eyes locked with hers and the image blinked away again. When it returned, he was ambling toward her. He snatched a few of the items off the carts, and jumped through the doorway. She saw as he carried them from that room which shouldn’t be there, and pulled them into this room.

It winked to darkness and Rommie could’ve sworn he wasn’t all the way through, but when it, along with its light, came back, he seemed unbothered. She wasn’t sure how it worked, but it seemed obvious that you wanted to be on _this_ side of the door when it disappeared. 

He smiled and shook the bejeweled items in his hands. “Look what I found.”

“Did you just rob that place?”

“Well, if they didn’t want to get robbed, they should’ve had better security.” He flicked off the switches and the buzz settled to a hum, then eased to nothing. The engines kicked on, as well as lights and everything else. The vault was gone.

“You opened some sort of space-folding portal into their vault,” she said. “I don’t see how they could have planned for that one.”

Rubbing a hand up and down his arm, he shrugged. “I say, if you’re smart enough to steal something, it’s rightfully yours.”

“That’s idiotic.”

“Well, nobody’s ever accused me of being smart,” he said, pulling off his gloves. “Oh, wait! Yes, they have. Harper, you’re so great. Harper, how _do_ you do it? Harper, wanna come back to my place?” He raised an eyebrow.

Her eyes almost rolled on instinct, but she got control of herself. The temperature was leveling out to a comfortable degree, and his previously tight movements were becoming more fluid. He hopped and climbed over the many items strewn about the place, eyes scanning readouts and deft fingers unplugging jacks.

Rommie paused. “Are you the source of the recent power fluctuations?”

He spoke with his back still to her. “I’ve never pled guilty to anything before.” He turned around and grinned. “But yeah, it was me.”

“And I assume because I didn’t know about this little project of yours, neither does anyone else?”

“I wanted to make sure it worked first,” he said, retrieving a knife from somewhere Rommie couldn’t locate. “I started out small, tiny, infinitesimal; doors no bigger than my pinky finger, and no farther away than the bathroom. Though what I was doing then was revolutionary, it didn’t use that much power.”

He grabbed one of the jewel encrusted items. “It wasn’t until I tried to keep the doors open longer than a few milliseconds that I knew this baby would eat up its fair amount of juice— everything a growing girl needs.” Jamming the knife in between the jewel and its metal counterpart, he began leveraging them apart. “Badda-bing led to badda-boom, and here we are.”

Rommie crossed her arms and said, “That explains almost nothing.”

“Yet everything, doesn’t it?”

The jewel he was working on—a sapphire from the looks of it—popped out of place and fell. He scrambled for it, and blew it clean before placing it in his pocket. The next one he pressured from its home was green.

“You _are_ going to tell Dylan when they get back, correct?”

“Correct,” he said, doubling over and yanking the jewel out. “Affirmative, uh huh, yuppers, gonna happen, you can’t stop me.” He picked up his flashlight and shined the beam through the jewel.

She advanced on him, intent on snatching the item, but her boot slipped on something. Arms thrusting outward, she regained her balance. In the low powered lights, it looked like drips of black dotting from the doorway to where Harper stood, that Rommie had slipped on, but she saw its true color. Red.

“Harper, you’re bleeding,” she said, stepping around the blood.

“Ya know, we’re the only ones here, you don’t have to specify you’re—wait, what?” His eyes grew wide. Frantic hands ran along his chest and arms, feeling their way up his neck and settling on his face. “Oh, no. It’s my face, isn’t it? You can tell me, Rommie. How bad is it? I always knew some higher being would be jealous of my looks and try and take ‘em away. _Bastard_.”

She did a quick scan up and down his body. “I think it’s your foot.”

Twisting at the waist, he brought his left leg up behind him, grabbing the tip of his shoe to hold it in place. He hopped a few times when his body listed to the side. Dark red stained the bottom of the shoe and the fringe of the heel; a heel that was missing some of its material.

“Holy shit, some of my foot is gone.”

Rommie knelt down and inspected the injury, peeling the matted material away. “Did what I think happened, happen?”

“I guess I wasn’t all the way through when the thing blinked off,” he said, now holding a cart for balance. “It wasn’t supposed to fluctuate like that; I’d done test runs. I had safeguards!”

“Well, it did,” she said, letting his foot drop to the floor. “And it appears not all of you made it back.”

The hobble to medical was long and filled with a stream of whining that was only broken by gasps when his heel touched the ground with unexpected force. He described it like stepping on ice that peeled just a little more skin off each time you pulled away from it. Rommie had lent a shoulder, wrapping her arm around his small waist, and dragging him along at points. She’d been steadily raising the brightness of the lights as they went, so that when they arrived at medical, it would be at full visibility without jarring Harper’s eyes.

A speckled trail followed them down the corridors, the liquid glinting against the lights, making it almost shine.

Once at medical, she helped him to the bed. Moisture beaded his forehead, and damp hair stuck to his pasty skin. His arms shook as he leveraged himself onto the bed, leaving his feet dangling off.

“How did I not notice this?” he asked, swallowing convulsively.

“Shock,” Rommie said, retrieving supplies. “I’m sure you weren’t expecting to be injured.”

“I was kinda worried—despite the odds—that someone might’ve been in there when I, uh, rang. ‘m not sure this is better than being shot at though.”

A thousand needles stabbed his foot when Rommie wiped the blood away; his leg jerking multiple times in response. She held it firm, and he grimaced, hoping to pass it off as a smile.

“How much is gone?” he asked, fists balled in the sheets.

She flicked a glance at him and pursed her lips. “Not too serious.”

“You’re not just sayin’ that?”

“Nothing I can’t fix; now hold still.” She unlaced his shoe, and looked up at him. “How would you like to do this?”

“Like a Band-Aid. Quick and—Ahhhh! Shit, Rommie! Warn a guy next time.”

“Next time?” She raised her eyebrows, dropping the shoe, and pushing his feet onto the bed until he was horizontal.

“I’m not the most resilient of our group; you know that, Dylan knows that, Tyr for sure knows that, and I know that.” He looked around. “Always ending up in here, usually with Trance hovering over me.”

“It’s part of your charm.”

Elevating his foot, and moving the light so close he could feel the heat radiating off his skin, Rommie dabbed at the sensitive area.

“Yeah, real charming,” he said, letting his head drop back onto the pillow. “A fun-sized liability.”

“You pronounced asset wrong.”

After fixing the injury, he was upright again and limping toward the door. Bloodied shoe abandoned in the corner, his bare foot slapping against the cool floor, he came face-to-face with the still closed door.

He dropped his head, not turning around. “Rommie, let me out.”

“You need to stay off your foot.”

“And I will, but the longer you keep me here, the more I’m gonna be standin’.”

She didn’t respond.

Lightly bumping his forehead against the door, he asked, “How long?”

“Twenty-four hours.”

“What?! That’s like half the time I have without everyone getting up in my business. How about…Twenty minutes?”

“No.”

“Half hour?”

She walked up beside him and gestured toward the bed. “Deal.”

“ _Really?_ ” he asked, limping back and perching on its edge again. His feet swung slightly back and forth. “Why’d you—wait a minute.” He pointed a finger. “You manipulated me; this is the amount of time you wanted me to be here for in the _first_ place. Sheesh, talk about inflating numbers.”

They sat.

Harper could almost hear the proverbial clock ticking, glancing at Rommie then the door, then Rommie then the door. The air had warmed to a nice level, giving his skin a pink dusting, though, obviously, not having any impact on Rommie.

“Open that cupboard there.” He pointed.

She did as requested, grabbing the only item inside: a deck of cards. They looked worn, yellowing around the edges, corners dull and round. She handed them over to his waiting hands.

“I’m gonna teach you golf,” he said, shuffling.

“I know what golf is, and it isn’t played with cards.”

“Not _that_ golf,” he said, placing six cards face down in front of her, then doing the same in front of him. “This is a card game by the same name.”

He flipped two cards and gestured for her to do the same. “Thanks, by the way.”

A two and a three. “What for?”

Shrugging, he drew from the pile. “Not telling Dylan or Beka about my exaggeration.” Discard.

“That wasn’t out of loyalty to you over Dylan.”

“No, I know.” He glanced up at her. “Thanks anyway.”

Rommie won that game, and Harper had demanded best two out of three. In total, they played for two hours; each upping the bets from a thread Harper found on the ground to having dinner together that night and, finally, to Harper returning the items he’d stolen earlier.

He took a three and switched it for a four. Rommie took his discarded four. She had five of her six cards flipped; he could lose this thing.

“Hey, Rom-doll, maybe this whole betting things was stupid. I mean, Dylan wouldn’t approve…probably.”

“No backing out now,” she said, almost smiling. “Besides, I think Dylan would be fine with it if he knew we were betting on you returning stolen property.”

“Maybe I was just making a withdraw.”

She stared him down. He averted his gaze, and drew a card. A two! He switched it for a six, and cocked his head.

She took the six and flipped her last card. Doing the math, he saw he had lower than her, but he still had one card facedown.

“Not a queen, not a queen,” he whispered, flipping the card like it was a feral animal. His eyes had closed of their own accord, and when he forced them open, he saw it.

A queen.

“Should’a known better,” he said, gathering the cards. “Playing against a warship.”

“The key is getting your cards flipped before your opponent knows what’s under their cards. You don’t need ones and twos; you just need low enough that you believe the other person has worse under theirs.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

She stood, as did he, his left leg bent at the knee, putting weight on the other. It sent a twinge up his leg when he lowered the injured heel.

“Would you like to eat first?”

He shook his head. “Nah, best get it over with. Nothing gold can stay, I suppose.” He clapped his hands and glanced about. “Got any glue?”

No matter how hard he tried, the jewels he’d removed wouldn’t sit the way they had before. Skewed, twisted, raised, they never settled in comfortably. He looked at his hammer.

“Don’t,” Rommie warned.

“I wasn’t gonna.”

Just as before, Rommie felt systems fall inactive, starting at the core of the ship and moving outward; it was like a wave of slumber, pushing, warming over everything. The machine buzzed to life, bulbs surging. Harper could almost taste the burning copper in the air.

He’d disregarded the gloves and goggles this time, stiff fingers tapping erratically against his leg as the temperature dropped. A chill settled deep in his bones. Dialing the coordinates of the vault he’d visited, he wondered what he’d have for dinner. There was this red-sauced chili Beka had the recipe for, that sounded consoling.

The doorway established a connection, the silver room wavy on the other end. It was as if he were looking through a smudged window or had forgotten his glasses.

Rommie turned toward Harper who was hesitating, stolen objects in hand.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, screwing his eyes shut and stepping through.

Once through, he faced her. Feigning a smile, he made a show of putting each item back. They clanked against the carts, disturbing the other items around them. Rommie’s eye caught something behind Harper though; the door—the _vault_ door—was opening. She only had time to step forward when the room blinked away.

The wall behind Harper’s doorway was dark and covered with cables running up the wall like vines; intertwining and tangling together.

Rommie didn’t know what to do. She jumped to the controls, splayed hands hovering over the buttons. Hesitantly, she reached for one, then retracted. Glancing over her shoulder at the dormant doorway, hair flicking around her face, she stalked up to it and kicked it with restrained force. Taking one from Harper’s book of fixing things, she waited with bated breath.

Every second ticked by with excruciating slowness; thousands of thoughts ran through her mind. ‘What do I do if this doesn’t work?’ being the most prevalent. Her foot drew back again.

It blinked back.

Two men—one of them Harper, one of them not—fell through, backs hitting the unforgiving floor with a thud. Harper’s head cracked against the ground, but he didn’t let up from kicking the man off. The man, much bigger than Harper, had his arms wrapped around Harper’s waist, fingers digging into flesh.

Gasping, Harper drove his knee into the man’s midsection, and scrambled up when the man’s grip faltered.

“Rommie, shut it off!”

The writhing man reached out, catching the bottom of Harper’s pant leg; he curled his fingers into the material, smiling with a mouth awash with red. He yanked Harper back, causing him to come crashing to his knees.

The man, half on the _Andromeda_ , half in the vault, began drawing Harper closer.

“Rommie!”

She ripped the wires out of everything near her, a pitiful whine emanating from the machine which went dark immediately. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the new lighting, but she was already staring where Harper had been last she’d seen him.

A dark lump was curled up on the ground, legs drawn close. Its breath came out in ragged heaves. There was a wet, sliding sound when the lump stood. Low-power lights came on.

“I think I’m gonna puke,” the lump—Harper—groaned. “I stepped in some…this guy.” A red-stained hand covered his mouth and nose. He glanced down at what remained of the man who’d been attacking him. “Oh, God, _is he still alive?”_

The cut-off-at-the-waist-man’s arms were twitching, fingers clenching and unclenching, head bobbing up and down. His lips formed silent words, blood pumping up his throat and garbling any sound he was making. He was like a beached whale that you had to watch die; unable to save, and unable to save himself.

Harper’s jaw clenched against the bile burning his throat, his stomach feeling as if dozens of Magog larvae were squirming, ripping their way out. His skin, which felt tight against his face, was clammy and cool.

They stood in silence, watching until the man stopped moving. Rommie raised her eyes to look at Harper.

“Beka’s red-sauced chili doesn’t sound so good anymore.” His chest heaved once, and he double over, holding his stomach. Vomit hit the floor with a splash, and he whimpered.

His legs shook. Rommie grabbed him before he fell into his own sick. She felt the trembling that shook his entire body, and led him to the hallway, letting him fall against the wall outside.

“Guess—” His voice was weak; he cleared his throat. “Guess that place is definitely haunted now.” Eyes shining and sunken, he forced a smile. “We’re gonna have to clean… _that…_ up.”

“First, I’ve got to check you out,” she said, running a hand up his arm and leaving it to rest on his slumped shoulder, feeling for any jutting bones. “Seamus.” Eyes raised to meet hers. “We’re going to Medical.”

His blond hair was tacky with blood, drying against his scalp. She wondered how much of it was his. His limp persisted, worsened now. A few purple bruises raised on his face; marring it like a sick painting. Blood leaked sluggishly from his split lip.

He watched the floor as they traveled, following the speckles of blood he’d left earlier with his heel. The distance wasn’t too far. In fact, he wished they would never reach medical. Because upon arrival, he’d be forced to sit still, and when he sat still, he thought. And that was the last thing he wanted right now.

Rommie’s hand hovered behind his elbow. She watched as stray droplets of blood rolled down his neck, disappearing under his collar, leaving vibrant trails in their wake.

The door opened and he braved in, his shoe still discarded in the corner.

“This must be some kind of record; even for me,” he said, leaning against the bed. “Twice in three hours.” His voice was hoarse and low.

Locating the injuries was top of the list. She carded her fingers through his hair, feeling for bumps or lacerations—she found one. Cuts and bruises decorated his face and arms, and he promised he was mostly unharmed under his clothes. If it weren’t for his fragile state of mind, Rommie would have insisted she be the judge of that.

She offered a cup of water, which he swished in his mouth and spat back out, the water tinged pink. His knuckles were swollen and purple; she had him hold ice against them while she worked on the more concerning head wound.

Nimble, robotic hands worked systematically. Clearing the wound, cleaning it, and mending it. Her mind was checking sensors, both inside the ship and outside. The _Maru_ was set to return in 44 hours; she wasn’t shocked by the short amount of time elapsed since their departure because she had always been keeping track, but it did feel odd that so much had happened in such a short amount of time.

If all had gone as it should, The _Maru_ would be arriving to their destination in twenty minutes.

“I didn’t…” Harper said, straining to keep his head steady. He spoke delicately. “I guess I knew, logically, what would happen if you turned it off, but I didn’t think…”

“He was attacking you.”

“Yeah, because I stole from him. Or worse, he was just security. He was doing his job, and I killed him for it.”

Rommie finished with the head wound. “I think we should call Dylan.”

Harper pushed from the bed; eyes downcast. “What good would that do? The guy’s dead, he’s not gonna be taking over the ship any time soon. Let’s just clean up and wait.” He waved his hand at her. “You can give your full report to Dylan when they get back.”

He pushed out the door, pupils readjusting to the relative dark compared to the room they’d been in. His boot left tracks. Rommie walked out after him, arms swinging tightly against her sides.

“I can deal with cleaning up,” she said. “You should take a shower.”

He felt sticky, clothes clinging against his skin, dried sweat glued to his neck. “That doesn’t sound too bad, actually. But I can deal with him—what’s left of him. I mean, I was…”

“Go.”

“Seriously—”

“ _Go_.”

“Sheesh,” he said, raising his shaking hands in surrender. “Ok, fine, _mom_. I’m going.”

He headed off one way, she the other.

Half of a man still weighed a considerable amount, more than she would have thought. Hefting him over her shoulder, his intestines dangling down her back, blood soaking through her clothes, she made her way to med-deck.

She went for the freezing unit; it was designed to preserve bodies, usually so they could be given to the proper people and buried. It had seen its fair share of gruesome sights, but half of a man? That had to be a first for this unit.

The protective sheeting crinkled as she placed the body in, not needing to worry about him fitting. There was a good five feet remaining; they had to be accommodating to many races.

The capsule retracted into the unit, and Rommie pressed the button that turned the preserving agent on. The lights went out.

That wasn’t supposed to happen.

“Harper?”

The comms were down; she’d lost connection with the ship. Either Harper had messed with her settings again, or something had stolen the power for its own selfish consumption.

She had to force the door open, wedging her arm in and pulling back. It groaned, but relented.

Thundering steps rushed toward Harper’s room. She figured she’d help him out of his room first, then check on the doorway, which was the obvious culprit for the power failure. Life Support and Artificial Gravity were still functioning, which were the two systems the doorway wasn’t connected to.

She kept her focus in front of her, bending around corners, and speeding through corridors. Darkened halls loomed at the corners of her vision, blurring by.

Momentum was high and someone turned right in front of her. They collided. The force threw them a few feet, and they landed on their back; Rommie stayed on her feet. She offered a hand.

“What’s the rush?” Harper asked, face contorted.

She hefted him to his feet. “I thought you’d be locked in your room. The doors weren’t responding and it was dark.”

“Aw, were you worried?” He stretched his arm, holding his shoulder. “Do you really think you could lock me anywhere?”

She raised a brow. “I suppose not.”

“They’re electronic locks, Rommie. I could open them in the dark with no power. Oh, wait, I _did_ do that. Just now.”

“Are you wet?”

“I just got out of the shower,” he said, brushing off his clothes which consisted of not one, but two jackets. “Try not to get too excited.”

She pressed a hand to his back and led him forward. He seemed hesitant, pulling back like he wasn’t sure there’d be ground where he stepped.

“Harper, I know it’s dark, but I can see. Trust me.”

He braved forward, allowing the push on his back to guide him. Her hand was a warm and heavy weight; it felt human. Damn he was good.

“So, you think the power failure was caused by…?”

“Yes.”

Maybe not that good.

“I need to get temperature control back on,” he said. “Unless you’d rather Popsicle-Harper help you deal with this predicament.”

She nodded. “Where to?”

“Almost any control panel on the ship. I made it so temperature control can be accessed from most rooms—including personal quarters. Surprisingly, people like to choose whether their room feels like a beach or a freezer. Who knew?”

After locating a panel, it took less than five minutes of fiddling in the dark for heating to kick on. Hours spent practicing with his eyes closed finally paid off—if Beka didn’t kill him when she returned, he’d shove it in her face that he wasn’t messing around when doing those exercises. Harper’s shivering slowed and slowed. When it disappeared, Rommie pulled him along again.

The last thing they expected to hear when approaching the machine shop, was voices. Heel peeling from the ground, but toes still touching, Harper sent a glance at Rommie. She had a vice-like grip on his forearm, holding him slightly behind her.

“What is that?” he asked, knowing what it sounded like.

Since ship sensors were down—or at least her connection to them was gone—she couldn’t be certain what the situation was. Eyelids fluttering closed, head cocking to the side, she tried to differentiate the voices; they all mixed together in the echoing corridor.

One, two, “Three,” she said, voice low. “Two women, one man. Can’t identify species.”

“We don’t need to know their species,” Harper said, hand snapping to his thigh holster. “We just need to know if shooting them will result in death or irritation…Which I guess would still end in death, just _our_ death… Oh, shit.”

The voices were still in the machine shop, and Rommie could hear back and forth of differing resonances, but couldn’t pinpoint any specific words.

“What?” she asked, not turning to look.

“I don’t have my gun. I think I left it in the shop.”

“The one our intruders are in?”

“I’m glad you’re identifying this as a group problem.”

She sighed. “So, they have access to a weapon.”

They fell silent, the mumblings of their uninvited guests crawling toward them. The armory wasn’t too far, Rommie figured she could make it there and back again before the voices figured out how to get out of the room. She’d keep Harper on guard.

“Stay.” She hissed, her footfalls fast, but quiet as she took off.

“What—wait—you stay!”

Not having access to the ship’s sensors made her feel weaker, more human. She was in the dark just like everybody else. The uncertainty of it all was difficult; she was built to know everything that happened on the _Andromeda_ , and having unsupervised intruders roam the ship made her turn corners with a bit more caution. She wasn’t sure how the others did it. Dylan, Beka, Tyr, Rev Bem, Trance, and especially Harper. They were so susceptible all the time, yet they continuously put themselves in harms way for one reason or another. She took her fair share of risks as well, but if it went wrong, the end wasn’t so final for her.

Pulling the door open, metal scraping against metal, she entered the armory. Unsure of what was waiting for them, she grabbed a rifle and handgun. Suddenly very aware of how unarmed Harper was, she darted back through the door and down the corridor. 

Running possible outcomes of what could have happened in her absence was, objectively, a bad idea. She saw Harper being found and insulting the intruders until they killed him. Or Harper getting fed up with waiting for her, and charging in with a wrench, and of course, they have his gun. They killed him in that scenario too. Most of the scenarios ended the same.

She slowed. The voices had moved; they were in the corridor with her.

She hooked an immediate right and ducked into an alcove, rifle at the ready. Her eyes were steady, unblinking, her back pressed tight against the wall. She could feel the sharp edges of power boxes lodged in the wall stabbing at the small of her back, but she remained still.

Hesitant footsteps clicked down the corridor, pausing every few seconds. She could hear the steps growing louder and louder, the intruders’ voices coming into focus. Her earlier assessment proved true: three people.

“Can’t see a damn thing,” a woman whispered.

“Where do you think we are?” The man asked.

“Shut it,” the third voice said. “We’re here for one thing, and then we’re gone.”

They were now where Rommie had turned off the main corridor, a few yards to the left of her hideout. Slow clunking of shoes continued, and they made a right; approaching Rommie at a snail’s pace.

Underneath her feet, Rommie felt a low rumble. It was power returning. Her fingers tightened around the rifle. Light was about to flood the corridor and reveal her presence to them. If she were the praying type, she’d be doing it now.

Instead, she trained her rifle on the first head to come into view.

“I think I feel something,” one of them said, stopping and looking first up, then down. “It’s underneath us. You don’t think…”

The low purple lights warmed on.

The voice, a man, had turned his back to Rommie when speaking to the rest of the intruders. Her finger was held against the trigger, but she didn’t move. He looked human, enhanced maybe. No one else came into sight. Rommie was a few feet directly behind him, if he turned around, game over, as Harper would say.

“It was power returning,” someone told him, then, “Wait a minute, there’s a trail over here.”

The man hunched his shoulders, casting a glance down the hall before stepping back to his friends. He passed from view and Rommie didn’t let herself relax until they’d gotten a few more yards away. They were moving much faster with visibility, no matter how low.

She crept out, gaze dropping to the trail of blood Harper had left earlier. She hoped he’d stopped bleeding and had gone any direction but the one the intruders were headed in.

She was uncertain; as she was finding herself more and more often. Which should be priority, finding Harper or subduing the intruders? Both seemed rational, and would inevitably be done, but in which order. She wished Dylan were on board, he’d know what to do. And if he didn’t, he’d find out.

Having been built to follow a captain’s order was convenient at times; she never hesitated when following orders, never had to wonder if it was the right or wrong thing to do—that was someone else’s job. But at the moment, she loathed that part of her programming.

What would Dylan do?

She clenched her fist around the rifle and set off toward the armory again. It would be tactically unwise to confront intruders when she didn’t know what they were capable of, if they were armed, and not knowing if there were more. She’d find Harper; together they’d deal with this mess.

Thinking it a bad idea to call out for him, she went back to the last place he’d known she was. There were a few places he could be, but best start with the most logical of places. Also, he’d probably be wanting a gun.

With power back, she tried accessing _Andromeda_ ’s computers, but it was like trying to touch a ghost; she could see it right there, but couldn’t latch on. Knowing Harper could fix whatever was preventing her from accessing computers gave her some comfort.

Her footfalls were quick, but quiet; fluttering of hummingbirds’ wings. The rifle was slung over her shoulder, the muzzle of the pistol running sentry in front of her.

The darkened halls in her periphery that once blurred together, now drew her eye. Gaze flicking from side to side to investigate each cut-away from her path; she looked for faces or weapons. All she saw though was a purple hue pooling on the floor.

The pistol turned the last corner before her. The armory was empty, almost as she’d left it. One rifle was missing, and two pistols. He’d been here.

She peeked into the hall, checking left and right.

All clear.

Pistol shoved under her arm, she yanked the armory door shut, wincing at the noise. She knew there was no exterior sign that the room housed dozens of weapons, but she checked anyway.

Yeah, it looked like any other room.

Automatically, she found herself trying to lock the door using her connection to the ship. It took a moment to remember that wouldn’t work. Hesitant to leave the weapons unguarded, she kept an eye on them until she turned a corner.

Slipstream core, bridge, or machine shop. That was the question. It seemed her legs had made the decision for her, as she found herself moving toward the machine shop.

She had no idea the likelihood of the intruders returning to the room. Yes, they’d originated from there and it was as close to familiar as they had on the ship, but she doubted they’d be able to find their way back even if they wanted to.

It wasn’t far, even moving at such a cautious pace. But there was a strange feeling lurking at the back of her mind the entire time; the thought that there were people crawling around the ship—around _her_ —without supervision was unsettling to say the least.

She knew it wasn’t real or logical, but she could almost feel their tiny shoes walking along her arms.

The machine shop was in sight—the door was open. She aimed her pistol and, checking both ways as if she were crossing a street, she advanced on it.

Thinking you’re being quiet and actually being quiet were, apparently, two different things.

A blond head popped out, squinting at her. She could see the shine of a gun in his hand.

Her hands went into an immediate surrender, muzzle safely pointed at the ceiling. She smiled, though he couldn’t see it.

“It’s me,” she said, waiting to move forward until he acknowledged her words.

“Rommie?” He said, straightening to full height and holstering his gun. “What took you so long? I figured you’d be here a long time ago.” He disappeared into the room, muffled voice still talking to her.

She walked in after him, happy to be out of the open corridors.

“—to find you, or at least get a weapon of my own. You weren’t there, so I grabbed a pistol and came back. When I realized they’d wandered away, I came directly in here.” He turned to her, wincing smile on his face. “Uh, I couldn’t find the pistol I left in here.”

Suppressing a sigh, she pulled the rifle over her shoulder. “Then let’s focus on getting it back.”

“That’s my girl. My very scary, very dangerous girl.”


	2. Chapter 2

Rommie walked quietly with ease, but Harper needed frequent reminding of their situation to not stomp around. With her systems down, she couldn’t be sure where the intruders were. If they had continued following the blood trail, they’d be in med bay. Harper suggested he and Rommie start there and she’d agreed, not voicing her worries that the group could have split up.

“Because they took my pistol, that means they probably aren’t armed otherwise, right?” Harper whispered, peeking around her. She’d insisted he walk behind her for safety. “I mean, right, Rommie? Why else would they bother?”

She slowed nearing a corridor opening to her right. Gun set against her shoulder, she lowered herself and leaned around the corner. All clear. She continued forward.

“Maybe they wanted to disarm you or they could just believe in using whatever is provided to them.”

He scoffed and she glared at the noise. He raised his hands in surrender. “Sorry, sorry. Look, I didn’t _provide_ them with my pistol, they stole it.”

“After you stole from them.”

“Hey, we can’t prove I stole from _them_ , just from _somebody_. They could be unrelated to the vault.”

After clearing another corner, she turned to him and stared. Silence made him uncomfortable, she knew, and she let it weigh on him. He scuffed his shoe against the ground and adjusted his grip on his new pistol.

“It seems unlikely, I know,” he admitted.

His eyes had been wide since they started after the intruders. Rommie couldn’t tell if it was out of fear, guilt, or he couldn’t see as well in the dimmer light. One ladder and two corridors stood between them and their destination. She didn’t have time to dissect everything about his behavior.

“If they were here for revenge about the man we killed,” she said, “what would you do?”

He shrugged and looked at his feet. “Depends. Are they gonna kill me on the spot? If so, I think I’d run and hide. If they wanted like a trial or something…” He lifted his head and leveled his eyes on hers. “How could I explain what I did? What kinda defense could I even use?”

She wondered that too.

“Let’s focus on finding and disarming them first. Then we’ll see if they’re ready for a peaceful discussion.”

“But is that what I deserve?”

Not having an answer and not willing to force a platitude, she turned back around and headed for the ladder. Behind her, Harper’s footsteps were softer as he followed.

At the worst moments, Rommie thought about what it would be like to be human. With the intruders two corridors away, she imagined she’d be shaking with anticipation of the confrontation. She might see monsters or creatures in the dark and hold her rifle tighter. The metal walls might seem colder and more alien like she didn’t belong.

She hoped Harper didn’t feel any of that.

Raising her fist, she stopped. Losing her connection to Andromeda and its sensors felt like losing a sense—she’d have to rely on the rest of them to compensate and keep them out of danger. The echoey corridors mixed with her advanced hearing meant she could hear farther than Harper and, hopefully, the intruders.

“—not here! This is dangerous and stupid, and you know it. We don’t even know where we’re going.”

“So, what? Jerimiah isn’t worth it? They killed him in cold blood and you want to forget about it? Leave here because this place is kind of big? Run then. Run and see what I care.”

“Can you two stop, please.”

“What about you, Mal? You want to run with him or stay and find this bastard?”

“I want—”

Harper sneezed. Rommie spun on him, pressing her hand over his mouth and pushing him down a side corridor. She flipped him around and pulled him tight to her chest, hand firm over his mouth. The bursts of air from his nose brushed her knuckles. Dragging him around another corner, she froze. He, smartly, followed suit.

The echo of the intruders’ voices didn’t reach her as easily now, getting caught on too many corners. A hand slapped at her wrist and she eased her palm down, not letting him go yet, still listening. With him pressed against her, the thump of his heart carried though into her chest.

“Do you think they heard that?”

“Let’s just say our element of surprise may be lost.”

He nodded and leaned his head back on her shoulder. They waited. Rommie’s eyes locked on the far corner, expecting the tip of a pistol to emerge or a person’s pale face to stretch into sight and stare forward. Darkness made people imagine what could be right beside them, dimness convinced people there actually was something beside them and it was looking directly at them.

Each of the crew on Andromeda were competent in their own ways. Had Tyr or Beka been in this situation with Rommie, she’d lead a direct assault. If it were Trance or Rev, avoiding a fight and sneaking to the bridge would be the plan. Dylan… Rommie shook her head. Dylan would know what to do. In those hypothetical plans, they worked toward each crew members’ strength, but which category did Harper fall in, she wondered. Should they be on the bridge right now?

“How long we been standing here?”

“Ten minutes.”

“I don’t think they heard.”

“They could be assembling their forces.”

“There’s three of ‘em, why’s it taking so long? Gotta put some pep in their step.”

“Why’re you in such a rush?” She quirked an eyebrow down at him. “Hot date?”

“If by hot date you mean not getting murdered and clearing this up before Dylan gets back, then yeah—the hottest of dates.”

The low-power lights bathed them in purple, wrapping them in the color and soothing them to it. Had the light been red, Rommie wasn’t certain she’d get used to it. Red meant urgent and danger; don’t let your guard down because something was coming. Yellow would’ve jaundiced skin and worn the walls. Blue and green, when emanating from the floor, screamed artificial. But purple soothed.

Tugging him away from her, she stepped down the corridor, ball of her foot to the heel. As she crept forward, she lowered herself. With no sound indicating the intruders’ whereabouts, she had to assume they were around every corner with a pistol pointed at eye-level. She’d be below that.

She poked her head around and saw black. The black seemed close and smelt like strawberries. No, Rommie thought, rather that strawberry spray Trance used to smell nice. The black shifted. Something stood in front of her, blocking the lights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know either. Comment if you find out.

**Author's Note:**

> Sure, I could write for two active fandoms I'm in, or I could write 7,000 words on a show that ended when I was five. This is definitely the way to get views and comments. My last post was about 'The Tell-Tale Heart'—there is no hope for me. I suppose I'll write a fic for Prodigal Son or The Mandalorian when they've been over for a decade and a half.


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